


Wheel of Westeros Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Five

by Thrafrau (annmcbee)



Series: Wheel of Westeros [30]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode: s07e07 The Dragon and the Wolf, F/M, Gloomhaven, Intimate Partner Violence, R'hllor - Freeform, Riverlands (ASoIaF), Slaver's Bay (ASoIaF), The Brotherhood Without Banners (ASoIaF), The Red Keep (ASoIaF), Volantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28753821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau
Summary: Things are coming together for Cersei in King's Landing thanks to her new husband. In the midst of attaining some allies old and new, Asha surprises her crew. Arya is torn between standing between her brother and Lady Stoneheart, and standing between Gendry and the nightfires. Dany wants to leave the Free Cities with Victarion, but Victarion has other ideas for her.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Asha Greyjoy & Theon Greyjoy, Cersei Lannister & Sansa Stark, Euron Greyjoy/Cersei Lannister, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Long Haul Jon/Daenerys, Victarion Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Wheel of Westeros [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458574
Comments: 14
Kudos: 3





	Wheel of Westeros Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Five

**_The Wheel of Westeros_ **

**Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Five**

_Disclaimer:_

_This fan fiction is meant neither to be a continuation of George R. R. Martin’s_ A Song of Ice and Fire _series, nor a revision of seasons 6-8 of the HBO series,_ Game of Thrones _. It is meant to stand alone, independent of those works, and can be read alone by those who have not seen the TV series or read the books. Having said that, this work will borrow from not only_ Game of Thrones _and_ A Song of Ice and Fire, _but from multiple other works of film, television, music and literature. Please see footnotes for references, and feel free to point out any I’ve forgotten._

Chapter 1: Cersei

It was good to be queen again.

The Small Council consisted now only of Cersei, Euron (her husband), KNo NCoCo (the sorcerer Euron call Greylocks), Taena Merryweather (her confidant and lover), Qyburn (her devoted sycophant), Ser Theodan Wells (single-minded as can humanly be) and of course the sitting queen (her daughter). In attendance was always Ser Robert Strong, the ghoul Qyburn had created from what remained of the Mountain, who had vowed to protect her and extinguish her enemies. Officially, Cersei was her daughter’s Hand, Euron served as master of ships, Graylocks was master of coin (and could make it appear and disappear sure enough), Ser Robert was all that was needed for a Queensguard, Taena was mistress of whispers, Qyburn served in a Maester capacity, and Wells, as head of the Warrior’s Sons, now called the First Order, served as Master of Laws. Everything had fallen into place for Cersei and everything was under control…no foreign monsters and pretenders were about to ruin it – not this time.

On the day Taena brought the news from the North, Cersei had arrived at the Council late. Once again, the laundress had allowed her crimson samite gown with the black and gold embroidery to shrink, and Cersei couldn’t get the thing to button closed. The idiot said she hadn’t cleaned the gown at all, so she couldn’t have shrunk it, but that was obviously a lie. Cersei didn’t know when she had taken it and cleaned it, but she had done so – Bernadette confirmed it. _Oh yes, my queen,_ the handmaiden had said. _I saw the gown in the laundry a week’s past, and said to myself now why is that gown being cleaned again?_ Bernie could always be counted on for the truth – that was exactly why Myrcella had sent her over. The queen her daughter wasn’t interested in those uglier truths. At any rate, Cersei had to pin the dress together and don a cloak to cover the open back.

“My dulcet darling[1]…so good of you to grace us with your presence,” Euron said when she finally arrived to the Council chamber. Had he not looked so handsome, Cersei might have given him a piece of her mind, but instead she apologized for being late. Taena and Qyburn had spread a map of the North on the table, and for a moment Cersei became excited. Was it finally time to retrieve Sansa the Whore and give her what was coming?

“Your grace, council members,” Taena said, winking at Cersei with a smile on her dark, full lips. “I’ve received some intelligence that, had I not trusted the source with my very life, I would never have believed.” She looked as beautiful as ever in a gown that changed colors with the light like so many of the doublets and jackets Euron wore. This one was golden in shadow and rainbow-colored in the light. “So I seek your assessment, fellow council members…given the possibility that so-called Others, or white walkers, and an army of dead men is in fact attempting to breach the Wall.”

Ser Theodan and Cersei laughed, but they were the only ones. “Come now, my dear,” Cersei said. “Why would your spies be that far north in the first place? _Breathtaking_ gown, by the way…”

“They followed Ser Jaime as you requested, and thank you, your grace. Your brother, I should point out, has been named Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch…or what remains of it.”

Myrcella gasped. Cersei couldn’t believe her ears. “My lady you can’t possibly believe this nonsense, do you?” She meant both the white walker bit and Jaime being sworn to the Watch. _Utterly ridiculous…although, Jaime has gone quite mad with stupidity of late…_ Taena stood behind her sources, and Qyburn promised to begin working on possible solutions, though it did seem the most immediate solution was wildfire – the same that young Griff had asked for at the Dragon Pit summit.

Suddenly it occurred to Cersei, and she looked at Euron, who smiled widely at her as if he knew her thoughts. “If this is true, then I can only imagine what our enemies would be willing to offer in exchange for our wildfire,” Cersei said. She envisioned Myrcella would marry young Griff. If he could be convinced to set Arianne Martell aside, it might not be necessary to kill the Dornish princess.

“Mother…Daenerys has three fire-breathing dragons. If we don’t make them an offer, couldn’t our enemies enlist her? And then what?” Myrcella said with a small convulsion that pulled her head to her shoulder with a jerk. She had been refusing to take her medicine.

“Indeed they could…and let them,” Euron said. He stood up and walked over to pull out Taena’s chair for her. She sat and gave Cersei their special look: raised eyebrows and a curling smile. “Her ladyship is right…it’s all real. The white walkers, the dragons, the screaming savages and bastard ghosts…all of ‘em.” He stood behind Qyburn and placed his hands on his shoulders, kneading them between thumbs and forefingers. Qyburn’s eyes rolled in relaxation, for no one could give a rubdown like Euron. “The frightening stories you all heard as children…they’re all real. It’s true.” He walked behind Graylocks and picked through his grey curls a moment before moving on to Ser Theodan, whose back he clapped hard. “I say…let’s let the monsters kill each other.”

“You mean to say do nothing, my lord?” Cersei asked.

“That’s right, precious wife. And while they’re all battling in the North, we take back what belongs to us. Then we rule.”

“My lord,” Myrcella said. “If this is true, and this battle with Others takes place in the North, there will be a winner and a loser, will there not? What happens to us then? It sounds as if we will be descended upon by dead men or by dragons and Dothraki no matter what.” [2]

“Perhaps, my enchanting queen, perhaps,” Euron said. “However, if you would dare to have faith in me, your dear old papa, we may have that issue resolved.”

After Euron and Cersei had married in a private ceremony, their union was announced in front of the empty plot where the Sept of Baelor once stood. Euron had publicly accepted the Faith of the Seven. He would help the young queen restore the realm to its former glory, which meant ridding it of noxious demon-worshippers, rebels and foreign pretenders. It hadn’t helped much that many of those in attendance had lost relatives to Euron’s activities, but Euron showed absolutely no fear of the mob. _Please…this should be a happy occasion! Let’s not bicker and whine about who enslaved who,_ he had said to them, the smile not once fading from his face. _I want the only daughter of the late good King Robert, our cherished Myrcella, to look upon me as her old dad…in a very real, and legally binding sense_ …[3]

Myrcella was reticent. “Oh really? And how’s that, _papa dearest_?”

Euron’s one blue eye twinkled. He made a flourishing motion with his hand, and magically, a rolled up piece of linen appeared in his palm, about two feet long. He unrolled it to reveal a black candle, about a hand thick, shaped in a twist. Qyburn’s eyes grew very wide indeed as Euron set it on the middle of the table with a _thunk_. It was the strangest candle Cersei had ever seen, in that it didn’t look like wax. It looked harder, smoother, like obsidian.

“Where did you obtain a glass candle, my lord?” Qyburn asked.

“From Oldtown, of course.” Euron reached over and gave Myrcella’s cheek a soft pinch. “My man pulled through at last!”

Qyburn proceeded to explain that this artifact allowed those who knew how to use it to see across seas, over mountains. It could produce visions of the past and of the future.

“Rubbish,” Ser Theodan said. “Heathen rubbish.”

“No Ser Theo it’s quite true,” Euron said. He stood between Theodan and Cersei and placed his hands on their shoulders. “With this tool I have seen the Dragon Queen in her lair. I have seen the Wolf Queen in her cave as well. But more importantly, I found Lord Stannis.”

He told them that the Targaryen girl had married his brother in secret, but his days were numbered. Stannis had sailed across the sea to join her, and before long, Daenerys would cross the sea to fight the Others and make her marriage to Griff. Myrcella wrinkled her brow and twitched disapprovingly.

“I will wield the Hellhorn to take control of her dragons…in the service of the queen of course. We shall be safe from ghosts and wights and wolves alike.”

“What of Sansa?” Cersei wanted to know.

“Once the dragons are ours, love, along with the wildfire, then I believe she will beg for our help,” Euron and let his hand drift from her shoulder to beneath her ear. “The North, the Vale and the Riverlands will be back in the right hands.”

That wasn’t what Cersei meant of course, but she saved it for another time. When she had her way, Sansa would be back in the Red Keep – not dead, however. Euron had shown her how the living death of slavery was so much more fitting. Then, once they found a way to dispose of Arianne Martell, and Myrcella was wed at last to young Griff, the threat that Maggy the Frog had prophesied about all those years ago would be over. The ugly old fortune-teller had predicted that her children would all die, and that a “younger more beautiful” queen would cast her down and take all that she held dear, before “ _the valonqar,_ ” or little brother, killed her.[4] She had done all she could to prevent that from coming true, starting with ridding herself of Tyrion. But she hadn’t been able to save her sons, and every time she thought she’d eliminated the threat of a younger queen, a new one popped up. Her son Joffrey’s marriage to Sansa had been prevented, but then Tommen had wed Margeary Tyrell. Cersei had turned the Tyrell girl into ash, but now Sansa was calling herself a queen again, as was this Dornish girl. Cersei would feel better once the Targaryen bitch was dead, but at least for now, Euron was hers.

That evening, Cersei sat at the edge of her bed wearing the nightgown Euron had gifted her, made of a material so soft and sheer it was like air. It was a pale rose color like an early morning sky, and some of the threads caught the light of the brazier making it sparkle. Euron knelt between her legs and kissed each kneecap with his blue-tinged lips, ever so gently sliding the hem of the gown up her thighs, or Asha Greyjoy’s thighs, one might say. Euron had developed a habit of using glamour lately to change Cersei’s looks. At first, she had been insulted, but too afraid to object, for Euron angry was dangerous to the entire castle. However, once Cersei was able to see the glamour herself, she grew to like being housed in the body of a younger woman – even if that younger woman was Euron’s big-nosed niece. Cersei did worry she would become cross-eyed, as that nose drew her eyes to it such that she could hardly see anything else. Yet her belly was flat and lean, her legs were strong and smooth, and her breasts were very firm, if a little small. Her hair was similar in color to a rat’s fur, but at least it wasn’t going grey.

Euron had taken off his eyepatch when he knelt before her so that he could look upon her with both his jewel of a blue eye and the glittering black one. Cersei ran her hand through his soft hair, black with emerald green dyed into it, while he opened her legs and kissed all the way down the inside of her thigh. Cersei became breathless, and helped herself to a sip of the shade of the evening that her husband had brought them. _Better for your health than wine my sweet_ , he told her, _and better for your mind._ She touched his cheek, where he had tattooed dragon scales into himself.

“Tell me again how you will kill her,” Cersei said, and pulled the gown over her head, flinging it aside. Euron dipped again between her legs and kissed her just above the mound of dark pubic hair.

“First,” he said, “I’ll draw her in with a promise.” He flicked his tongue against the throbbing little knot at the top of her slit, causing her to gasp, before he kissed it. “Then I will put her at ease…let her think she is seducing _me_.” He pulled the little knot, now swollen with Cersei’s desire, into his mouth with his lips and sucked for a few seconds before releasing it. “Then I will wrap my hands around her neck and crush her windpipe until she breathes no more.”

Cersei moaned and laid back, opening wide to him as he fed upon her. It felt as if his tongue grew to twice its size, plunging into the folds and wobbling firmly against her pleasure spots. She cried out as she came, her hips undulating against Euron’s mouth. He kissed and nibbled up through her pubic hair, across her belly, tickling her, and up to her little breast. There he licked circles around her nipple (Asha’s nipple) and bit down upon it just hard enough to make Cersei gasp.

“And when I’m done, I’ll drag her out by her silver hair and throw her in the canals…”

Then he opened his breeches and took her. When he came, purple lightning laced them together, and the room glowed blue and green.

Chapter 2: The Kraken’s Baby Brother

Asha’s forehead was covered with beads of sweat, but she did not wipe it away. She only stared off into the distance, concentrating on the ruby sunset that dripped over the Black Cliffs. Again, Theon wondered why she dressed so heavily with her cloak around her and a heavy cuirass that seemed too large for her, but he didn’t say anything. Every time he mentioned that she seemed to be trying to melt herself like a sugar plum, she told him it was her own business what she wore and for him to mind his own. Lately it seemed that interrupting Asha while in thought was asking for trouble, and he supposed a little crankiness was to be expected.

For one, Victarion had pressured them to go back to Volantis where Queen Daenerys would soon return from Pentos. He had shown up in the _Iron Victory_ at precisely the wrong time as Asha was conducting some reconnaissance on the island of Yaros. A faction of Ghiscari enemies were posted there and looking to make trouble for the queen’s stewards in Yunkai and Mereen. If Lieutenant Plumm and Lieutenant Naharis tried to gather and march, these scum were poised to stop them. The question was: what sort of forces had they mustered? Was it the usual band of slave soldiers trained from birth to die for causes that did not benefit them? If so, they were human, few, and no match for Asha’s Ironborn crew together with Ben and Daario’s sellswords. If not, what were they? It soon became clear that what threatened to march into the Free Cities and end Daenerys’s reign was something altogether other than the typical slave soldiers. The Tourmaline Brotherhood, The Harpy’s Eggs, and the Traitor’s Beasts had made alliances with some residents of Old Valyria who had previously kept themselves hidden – and these were not human.

Asha hadn’t determined, after Theon had warned of Victarion’s coming, whether she should let him in on what they were slowly discovering. She sent an envoy out as soon as the _Iron Victory_ had appeared, requesting Victarion come aboard the _Black Wind_ with but one captain. When he came on board with Nute the Barber in tow, their uncle had looked a bit less than human himself. He was haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in a year, and had lost a lot of flesh.

“The queen wishes to meet with you, and asks what you need of her,” he had said in a tone that suggested he didn’t appreciate the opportunity to deliver the message.

“A pleasure seeing you as well, nuncle,” Asha had said, flashing a smile. She wore the crimson overcoat with the black kraken burned in, a flaming heart in red silk thread sewn in the center of its head. Her hair was twisted and braided over her scalp and left loose at the shoulders – the work of Lauren of Lorath who did her hair in the Lorathi style. “Well then, Nute…what about Greenshield?”

“Oakenshield,” Nute corrected her. “And it ain’t going anywhere is it?”

“With Euron it’s hard telling,” said Asha with a wink.

“The new Shield Lords have abandoned Euron,” Victarion said. “I have Harras and Andrik with me as well vying to steward for the queen.”

“Andrik the Unsmiling…ugh. Thank the Lord you didn’t haul that sour carcass aboard with you. Say uncle, Theon tells me you’ve wed Daenerys…I’m impressed!”

Victarion said nothing, and his eye twitched. It was as if he hadn’t heard her. Theon had only shivered and remained silent. Victarion’s look filled him with dread.

“How long do you plan to hold the Bay, princess?” Nute asked finally.

“Long enough – until which time every Harpy’s Egg is boiled and done for. If the queen would know what I need, I would just as soon tell her myself.”

Victarion snapped back and grimaced. “The queen sails to Volantis in ten days time…her palace sits upon the waterfront.”

“Well hold on, nuncle…I can’t just pick up anchor and sail, can I? Have a look around, will you, and when you return you can give the queen your report. That way… _gods be good what is that?”_

Victarion had been holding his helm beneath his cloak, and when the wind blew the cloak aside, a tentacle was revealed, coiled around the helm, where a hand should have been.

It might have been more shocking if they hadn’t seen so many queer things in Dragon Bay already. After Victarion went on his way, Asha determined she would take their new friends Mulder the Hatchet and Vernon Mindthief with them to Volantis. It was likely the queen had no idea of the secrets that old Valyria, and in particular the city of Mantarys, held. Mulder and Vernon stood now on the deck with Theon, Rodrik Harlaw and Tristifer Botley, discussing the appearance of the crab-like monsters that gathered on the beaches near Tolos just south of the Cliffs. They were called lurkers[5], and they had begun crawling out of the surf not long after Daenerys had first sacked Astapor.

“Some are fiercer than others. The clawcrushers could mangle two men in a split second like snapping your little fingers,” Mulder said. “But if you’re weak of mind, it’s the mindsnipper you need to worry over the most. You will know them by the purple eyes – like your Targaryen queen but much uglier.”

Mulder was an inox,[6] a race of large human-like creatures with dark grey skin, red eyes and two curvy narrow horns growing out of their heads. After the doom of Valyria, they had populated the city of Mantarys and surrounding mountains, but the Ghiscari had cut off their resources so long that the plague ravaged them more than any other population, killing them almost to a man. The vermlings, a race of small, rat-like men, to whom Vernon belonged, had depended on the inox for their livelihoods in thieving and scavenging. Now they too were nearly extinct from hunger and disease, and the two races who had been adversaries for centuries now banded together to survive. Asha recognized the fighting prowess of the inox, and learned quickly enough that Vernon, like a few others of his race, could be valuable in their own way.[7] She was quick to offer them asylum if she was victorious in return for their service.

Asha glanced at Theon now and then from where she stood at the prow, still sweating profusely. She appeared to be listening but certainly seemed distracted. Theon followed her eyes to the west and saw an approaching ship, vaguely familiar, in the distance. It had gray sails and a very high-carved prow, and approached very fast. Asha extended her glass tube and held it at her eye for a look. When she put it down again, her eyes looked to be sparkling. She turned as if to smile at Theon, but suddenly her brow wrinkled, and she doubled over, making a sound of agony that made Theon’s blood run cold.

Rodrik and Tristifer spun around, and Mulder hushed in surprise. Asha let out another wrenching scream of pain, clutching her abdomen. Then she ran forward, still bent over, and dove into the cabin’s hatch, tumbling down the steps and disappearing into the great cabin. Breonna of Norvos appeared out of nowhere and followed her mistress at breakneck speed, slamming the door of the great cabin behind her. Theon looked at Tris, whose face was stricken. They heard Asha’s voice shout out, _Theon_ , and in seconds, the two of them were outside the great cabin where inside they could hear Asha howling in pain.

“Commander!” Tris called out, knocking on the door frantically. “ _Asha!_ ”

Suddenly, Breonna’s little brown hand reached out and clutched Theon by the jerkin, pulling him inside the cabin. The door was shut again immediately, and for a time Tris could be heard continuing to bang on it, shouting Asha’s name, even wriggling the knob a time or two before giving up with one mighty whack on the wood. Asha was apparently too preoccupied by a deluge of pain to respond. She writhed and rocked upon a freshly made bed in the corner of the cabin, while Breonna wrestled her breeches from her legs and flung them aside. All at once, Breonna began to snap out a series of orders, which Theon followed obediently: _See that rag? Twist it tight and knot it then give it to me. Fetch that water. See that candle? Heat this kettle over it._ She proceeded to place the knotted rag in Asha’s hand, telling her to bite down on it whenever she felt the need.

“Asha…what is it? What’s wrong?” Theon asked, holding the kettle.

“Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgghhurk…” was the only reply.

The moon was high in an ink-black sky when it was finally over. Asha sat up in the bed, a stack of pillows behind her, with a placid look upon her face. She was pale and her brown hair was wet and stuck to her face in wild strands, but she was smiling as though she’d just won her greatest victory. Theon sat next to her with the little bundle in a wool blanket in his lap, a smell more pleasant that any he’d ever known trickling into his nostrils. The little thing was so small he could hold her with one arm, with her fuzzy little head in his palm and her feet at the crook of his elbow. The baby made tiny murmurs now and then, and squirmed ever so slightly, but otherwise was completely sedated from the effort of entering the world. Theon gently stroked her round little cheeks with his remaining fingers, so enrapt by her for a moment that he almost didn’t notice that Asha had thrown off the coverlet and was pulling on her water-stained breeches.

“Just what is it that you think you’re doing?” Breonna asked.

“I think my men deserve an introduction,” Asha said.

“ _Horse shit._ Get back in bed. Now, I tell you.”

Theon remembered a time when he would have flogged members of his crew for talking to him so disrespectfully, but that wasn’t Asha Greyjoy’s way. She did ignore Breonna however, and gestured to Theon to hand over the baby. At first, he hesitated, but then Asha nodded and smiled in a way that told him everything was perfectly all right and as it should be. _That_ , he realized, _was why she is a great captain and I will never be_. He carefully transferred the babe from his arms to hers, and Asha held her close to her breast as she walked out of the cabin and up to the deck. Theon looked at Breonna, who shook her head, and then followed his sister and his princess up to where the men were waiting.

A crowd had gathered on deck, the Ironborn, the inox and the vermling, the ladies in waiting, the red priest: they had all been standing there since she had disappeared into her cabin screaming in pain. Theon saw a new face, or rather an old face, among them. A familiar bisected grin beamed forth, bringing Theon back to his childhood. Dagmer Cleftjaw was the first to put his hands together when Asha held her infant daughter up above her head. Together with the moon, mother and baby made a long shadow that darkened where Theon stood.

“Ironborn…meet your future princess: Daenerys of House Greyjoy!”

Chapter 3: Arya

The Riverlands had grown much colder, making Arya worry about Jon alone at the Dreadfort with Val and, by now possibly, their baby. She had felt torn between wanting to turn around and go back to her brother and staying with Gendry at the Crossroads Inn, but she could no longer run from the responsibility of dealing with Lady Stoneheart and her followers. They had abandoned the Riverlands – so Arya and the others had found out when they went to cross the bridge at the Twins. Arya, Mya Stone, Thoros of Myr, Gendry, the Vance sisters Emmy and Liane, Harrold Hardyng Arryn and Lothor Brune had arrived there on a snowy night, the wind whipping their faces raw. Sansa had ordered Uncle Edmure to leave the bridge open, for soon a great exodus of northern folk would need to make that crossing to escape the army of the dead. Lady Stoneheart, for that matter, was already gone. Lord Vance was minding Riverrun until Harrold’s arrival. Over a supper of baked turnips with onions and cream, apple tarts with yellow cheese, peppered pork sausage, wine-soaked clams and three different kinds of fish, Edmure told them that the Stoneheart Brotherhood was marching north, and that meant trouble for the Northern lords who had turned against Robb.

It was upsetting news, though Edmure had insisted that Jon Snow was in no danger. _As long as the bast…as long as Jon is surrendered to Sansa, he’s safe_. However, Arya knew better. Jon was a threat to Sansa’s rule and to Rickon’s birthright. He would never be safe from the Hangwoman, no matter how much surrendering he did, and now there was no way to warn him in time. She had decided that night she would turn around, and return north to protect her brother. She would tell Gendry as much, as they and Mya were loading the last of the autumn apples from the old orchard into a cart to be taken to the Inn. Gendry was trying to distract her from her obvious anxiety by naming everything that Frosty and Willow Heddle could make with those apples.

“Pies and cakes obviously, but that’s just a start,” he said. “Just hope there’s enough cinnamon. In the world.”

“Most of it will go to cider to be sure, don’t you think?” Mya said. Her nose was very red and she was sniffling.

“There’s tarts. Baked apples. Dried apples. Apple cobbler. Apple sauce for the little ones…hoe cakes…ever had a hoe cake, you ladies?”

Arya looked around them to see if anyone was about, but they were alone. Harrold was inside, probably getting drunk, hopefully not mashing himself against the Vance girls. Lothor had gone to the stables. “Listen you two,” she said at last. “I’m going back North tomorrow morning. I have to get back to Jon. You don’t have to come with me, but I’m going.”

“You can’t go by yourself!” Mya objected. She had grown quite close with her new half-brother and probably didn’t want to leave him either.

“You said you wanted to help me at the Inn,” Gendry said, looking angry. “We need your help, too.”

“He’s my brother, Gendry.”

“From what I hear Jon can hold his own. I heard he can command lizard lions and shadow cats. Not to mention giants and mammoths. Did you ever think he might be able to take care of himself?”

“Not if he doesn’t even know he’s in danger.”

“What about me? What about us?”

Arya reddened. She took a bag of apples from Mya and told her to go inside and get warm, as she looked to be catching a cold. Mya didn’t protest as she normally would, but did as she was told with a knowing look at Gendry. When she was gone, Arya went up and placed a gloved hand on Gendry’s beard. “Come with me,” she said. “Sansa can send more men to the Inn, and when Jon is safe, we can come back.”

“When will he be safe? When he’s no longer Ned Stark’s son? How’s that going to come about?”

“When Lady Stoneheart is dead.” It was the first time she had said it aloud – the truth she had been running from for all these months.

“Why does it have to be you?” Gendry put his arms around her waist – strong, big arms that made Arya feel like she felt as a little girl in her father’s arms.

“Who else should it be?”

“Anyone I don’t love.”

“Oh, dummy…”

They made love that night in a bed that may well have been little Walder Frey’s at some point. It was hard knowing, for there had been so many Freys – but not anymore. Afterward, they lay kissing softly, and Arya ran her hands over Gendry’s gorgeously muscled shoulders as if it might be the last time. His beard smelled of onions and cider, but his skin smelled of sweat, fresh earth, hot steel, hempseed and embers. The soft dark hair on his chest felt nice against her cheek, and she could hear his heart pounding in her ear, drowning out the sounds of servants gossiping that she could hear through the walls. Or was it ghosts?

“I want to serve your brother too, you know, but I can’t leave the Inn. I made a promise to the girls and to the children,” Gendry said.

“I know.”

Arya knew he wanted to marry her and have a family, but he was afraid to ask, and Arya wasn’t sure she would say yes anyway. It wasn’t that he was a bastard, or that the Crossroads Inn was no castle. She didn’t care a bit about that. It was just that she was so used to running and hunting that she couldn’t imagine settling down in a home and being a mother – not yet. Someday she would have a little boy or little girl she could teach to ride and fight and bake good bread, but for now that little boy or girl would have to die a puddle on her belly. The world was full of enemies, and she didn’t want to wait inside, knitting by the fire or some such, with a babe clamped to her tit, hoping the men she loved could fight them off. As soon as she closed her eyes, she would see them – the Others and the wights. Ever since she had been to the Wall, it was all she dreamt of, night after night. How could she bring a baby into a world in which they still existed?

“There’s something else,” Gendry said suddenly. “I need to tell you…that the Brotherhood wants to make a sacrifice when we reach the crossroads.”

“What sort of sacrifice?” Arya asked, but she already knew.

She and Gendry had talked quite a bit about R’hllor, though Arya still didn’t know what to make of his new religion. On their way through the Neck, Mya had said the words as well, devoting herself to the Lord of Light in a little ceremony put on by Thoros, in which they burned a seven-pointed star Mya made of willow branches and during which Lothor wouldn’t stop grinning like a fool. Emmy and Liane went about with little flaming heart patches on their dresses, and said prayers by the fire at night. Thoros talked of the Lord’s benevolence, but that seemed dubious after what she had seen them do for their night fires. The people Lady Stoneheart had burned died for her revenge, Gendry explained, not for the Lord. However, they did burn people. _King’s blood,_ he had joked a while back. _That’s the best sacrifice. But a goat will usually do_. Gendry had king’s blood, and so did Mya. Arya would be damned if she was going to let them burn.

“I’ll go with you to the Crossroads,” Arya said. “But then I have to go north.”

The next morning they rode, and Arya spoke to Mya about the sacrifice in whispers while the others rode ahead. A feathery hoarfrost covered the branches of all the trees that grew along the Kings Road, making everything look otherworldly and haunted. Harrold was making the typical japes about bastards in a loud obnoxious voice, and Gendry would be too annoyed with him to hear. Arya would be glad when Harrold took the River Road west and she never had to look at his stupid philandering face again.

“Maybe they want me and not Gendry…they need Gendry.”

“They won’t have either one of you, do you understand? I won’t allow it.”

“I don’t know, my lady…you saw them. You saw the white walkers. I don’t know if we can beat them. I just…I don’t know if we can win.”

“I understand what you mean. I dream about the fuckers every night.”

“You too?”

“But burning Gendry or burning you won’t stop them.”

“How do you know? What will stop them then?”

They got drunk on cider at the campfire some days later – the night before they would arrive at the crossroads. Harrold danced with Emmy and Liane to Thoros’s singing. He never asked Mya to dance – not that she would have if he did. Mya avoided Harrold like a plague ever since he had made unwanted advances toward her at Winterfell. Arya noted that he’d only gone for Mya when no one was around, as if a bastard girl wasn’t even good enough for him to rape. Thoros beat on an old drum skin as he sang:

_There’s a man who lives next door_

_In my neighborhood, in my neighborhood,_

_He gets me down_

_He comes in so late at night_

_Always a fuss and fight, always a fuss and fight_

_All through the night… **[8]**_

Arya laughed and made crude jokes with Gendry and Mya, but inside her mind she was planning her move. When they took Gendry, or went to grab Mya, she would leap upon Thoros first. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be necessary to kill him. Arya had grown to like the old drunk. She didn’t share her plans with Gendry – only Mya. She wouldn’t force him to betray his god, but she knew he wouldn’t interfere either. That night she curled up in front of the fire wrapped in furs with Gendry. It was nice to be with people who wouldn’t judge her for such behavior – that was something that could be said about the servants of R’hllor. As she fell asleep, she looked over to see Lothor Brune standing over Mya, who had passed out on top of her bedroll. He took a thick fur from within his tent, laid it over Mya’s body very gently, and tucked it under her chin.

The next evening, when the Inn was only a half-mile distant, Arya saw that a camp had been built beside the river with tents all in a great circle. The Hollow Hill Brotherhood was there waiting for them with solemn faces. Behind where they stood, Arya could see a tall stake upon what was clearly a pyre. They unhorsed, and Arya reached for Mya’s hand. _On my signal,_ she whispered, her heart racing. Her eyes went to Thoros, then to Gendry, who walked beside Harrold opposite Lothor.

“What’s this?” Harrold asked. “Is this my escort to Riverrun?”

Thoros stopped and turned. “No my lord. This is your escort to heaven…”

Suddenly, Gendry took Harrold’s sword from the scabbard, and he and Lothor grabbed Harrold by the arms. Harrold’s pretty blue eyes became impossibly wide as the brothers parted and the pyre appeared before him.

_“What the fuck?!”_

Harrold thrashed about, trying to escape, but Gendry and Lothor held him fast. They dragged him to the stake and lashed him to it with the help of two other men, one of which Arya recognized as Anguy the archer. Harrold screamed. He kicked. He swore. Meanwhile, Thoros called out to R’hllor in prayer.

“ _Lord of Light accept this sacrifice…this king of men…”_

“Help me,” Harrold bleated as the fire was lit at his feet. “Lady Arya please!”

Arya made her way into the circle that surrounded the pyre with Mya beside her, still holding her hand. Voices rose in prayer along with Thoros around them.

_“Lord of Light defend us…”_

“Arya, I beg you! Mya…help me. Mya…I’m sorry…please!” Harrold screamed.

_“Lead us from the darkness, o my Lord…”_

“Lothor you cocksucker!”

_“Yours is the sun that warms our days…”_

“Arya…don’t let them do this! I love your sister. I love Sansa! I love her! Please!”

The fire grew around him, obscuring his face with smoke. “Then why did you treat her as you did?” Arya said.

_“Yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night…”_

Harrold began to scream in pain as the fire engulfed him, and soon the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Arya saw that Emmy and Liane shut their eyes and covered their ears, but Mya did not. The screaming grew louder, higher, then stopped.

_“Lord of Light protect us…the night is dark and full of terrors…”_

Chapter 4: Victarion

Dany was wearing a new evening gown, the kind she wore only in her private chambers. It was a dark indigo blue, and made of material so thin that in some light her nipples could be seen through the fabric. It hung in soft folds from her neck by a collar of silk embellished with lapis lazuli, and the same stones girded her waist. Her silver hair fell to her shoulders in shining waves. The Dothraki girl had painted her eyelids the color of the sea and her lips with sparkling mica the color of sand. She would make a beautiful corpse, as she was meant to.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, pouring him a cup of wine. “I missed you.”

“You seemed to get on well enough,” said Victarion.

He couldn’t let her woo him away from what he had to do. She was as mad as ever, and spelled doom for the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Islands. Others didn’t see it, but he did, and when she was dead and they all realized how dangerous she was in hindsight, they would thank him. It had to be now, for Dany had finally asked for a private audience and dismissed her ladies and her guards. Victarion had sent Moqorro on an errand, and Selmy was occupied in his new wife’s bed. The Unsullied who watched the door were down the hall some ways, so as long as he did it quietly, she would be gone before anyone could stop him. Should they capture him, all he would have to do is explain to them why it _had to be done_. When he showed them the signs they had missed, they would not only spare his life, but would surely reward him. They had to. Gods help them if they didn’t.

“That’s true. I can get on without my husband, but there are things that I don’t get when you aren’t here,” Dany said, walking up to him with that look in her purple eyes.

She placed her hands upon his chest and opened her lips for a kiss. Victarion had been determined to refuse her, but he could not. He kissed her hungrily, the taste of ginger candy on her tongue arousing him, weakening him. _No._ This was what she did – she used her beauty and sweetness to disguise her evil – but he was no fool! When she was dead, they would all see it. They would know that he above all others had the wisdom to see her for who she truly was. He broke from her and turned away.

“I’m worried about you my love,” she said. “You seem afflicted. I hoped you would see Archmaester Marwin. Or lady Maebi if you prefer.”

“I don’t need the help of witches and warlocks.”

“Your health is important, Victarion. The steward of the Free Cities must be strong in body and mind.”

Victarion’s heart leapt inside his chest. He turned back around and saw her smiling. She took an olive from the tray that the maids had left, piled with olives, pickled peppers, dried figs, candied ginger and fresh oysters – the last being his favorite. She nibbled when she was excited.

“Steward of the Free Cities. What do you mean?”

“What I said. I’ve thought long and hard about this,” she said. “The Lyseni, the Myrish and the Tyroshi all respect you…the magisters of Myr actually quite adore you, and the Lyseni _gonfaloniere_ admires you greatly. The triarchs…well, I’m sure you can handle them as well. After what you showed them in the Stepstones, the people surely know these cities should belong to you. Don’t you agree?”

She looked even more lovely in that moment than Victarion had ever seen her. He went to her and clasped her around the waist, unthinking – feeling a sudden rush of desire when her scent filled his nose. She smelled of plums and almond oil and smoke. Victarion had not expected all three cities. He thought possibly Lys, but this was generous indeed. Suddenly he felt his mission to destroy her dissolve like salt in warm water. Could it be that she had actually listened to him when he told her they should abandon Westeros and take the island instead? In time, maybe he could get her to see the folly of trying to end slavery. He took her chin in his good hand and brought her mouth to his once more, kissing her deeply. How sweet those lips! How soft her body!

“Cockle Shell,” he said. “I will rule them as I would the islands on which I was born.”

“I’m glad. I want to leave them in the right hands.”

Victarion felt the dark descend again as suddenly he realized what she was saying. “Leave,” he said. “You mean to leave me there.”

“Yes. I cannot linger here much longer. When I cross the Narrow Sea at last, I must know that my fight to break the chains of my children will continue.”

“You mean to set me aside. For _Griff_.” The name burned Victarion’s tongue like acid.

“Not for Griff. For the Seven Kingdoms that cry out for rescue.”

Victarion pushed her back from him. “Suppose I kill the little dragon spawn first?”

“Victarion, I cannot allow you to do that.”

“Will you stop me?”

“Yes, I will stop you, and it would be foolish for you to do it anyway!” Like a spoiled child, she stomped her sandaled foot and balled her fist. “It would change nothing…in fact it would make it even more important for me to return and save our people from those monsters.”

“Those monsters? _Those??_ ” Victarion stretched out his tentacle and seized her by the arm, pulling her close to him.

“Ow…that hurts,” Dany said, pouting.

“What greater monsters are there in the world than the ones who burned Astapor and Yunkai? What greater monster is there than the one in this room with me?”

Victarion gave her a firm shake with each utterance of “monster.” Dany’s face became angry, and then anger melted to hurt. “Victarion…” she said shakily.

“Madness is a permanent condition, my queen… _there is no other way!”_

Upon seeing the fury that surely sat upon Victarion’s face, Dany’s look of hurt became fear, and she opened her mouth to cry out. Victarion seized her by the hair quickly, taking the breath from her that would have gone into a scream. Before she had a chance to cry out again, his tentacle was wrapped around her throat. He squeezed tighter while Dany kicked at his legs and clawed desperately at the tentacle to no avail. Victarion felt himself weakening when he saw the shock and betrayal in her eyes that spilled over with tears, but he steeled himself against mercy. There was no going back now, and yet tears soon soaked his own cheeks. He began to sob, as Dany turned purple then blue, the veins in her gorgeous eyes beginning to burst and spill blood, her tongue projecting from her open mouth.

Suddenly, Victarion felt a sharp pain that tore his midsection. A dark shape emerged from his chest that had pierced him through the heart from the back, but whether sword or spear he could not tell, and it withdrew itself without a sound. He dropped Dany, who fell to the floor like a bundle of linen, coughing and gasping for air. When he turned to see who had stabbed him, he saw only a tall shadow, standing before him as a man would. He recognized its face just as the dark took him.

[1] Reiner, Rob. _The Princess Bride_ , Act III Communications, 1987.

[2] Benioff, David and D.B. Weiss, _Game of Thrones_ , Season 7, Episode 7: “The Dragon and the Wolf,” HBO, 2017.

[3] Gilliam, Terry and Terry Jones, _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ , Python Pictures, 1975.

[4] Martin, George R. R. _A Feast for Crows_ , Chapter 36, Cersei VIII.

[5] Lurkers are an enemy character from the _Gloomhaven_ expansion called _Frosthaven_ , by Isaac Childres. You can kickstart it here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/frosthaven/frosthaven/posts/2800976

[6] The inox are characters from the game _Gloomhaven_ by Isaac Childres. This character is based on “The Hatchet” from the _Jaws of the Lion_ expansion. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rL_xI5xGJ2o

[7] The “Vermling Mindthief” is a starting character from the game _Gloomhaven_ by Isaac Childres: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SL26ogTR6lE

[8] Massive Attack, “Man Next Door,” _Mezzanine_ , Virgin, 1998.

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing in a limited POV style like Martin's, which is a suffocating way to write. I have thought of a lot of neat scenes that don't fit into the POV limits I set for myself, or don't move the story along quickly enough to include in the series. I will write these out if someone requests it. If you like this story, and would like to see a scene that got skipped or glossed over, OR that is in the POV of someone who is not a Stark, Targaryen, Baratheon, Greyjoy, or Lannister, let me know what you'd like to see, and I will make a Wheel of Westeros B-side out of it.


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